Lockjaw
by Glastea
Summary: Olivia and Nick are found out... By the most unlikely person.
1. An Unexpected Discovery

**Lockjaw **

A/N: Yes, a new story! God forbid! I give no excuses. This came to mind when I was in Norway, and wouldn't let me leave it. Also, my main character is one that isn't written very much (as much as I've seen, anyway) and the opportunity was too sweet.

**0-0-0-0-0**

Chowchilla Charlie was not having a good evening. For the second time in as many times, he was tucked under the crook of a demon's arm, travelling down a long, dingy corridor (much different from the usual décor of the cat track), to a back door. By now, Charlie was getting tired of listening to the demon grumbling about his lack of place in life and the jobs he had to do, but soon enough, they reached the fire exit, the demon swung it open, unceremoniously dropped his charge on the wet pavement outside and retreated back into the depths of the Cat Track, away from the pouring rain.

Charlie picked himself up, brushed his suit off (for no apparent reason), and knowing that he couldn't smoke in the rain, stumbled into the dark back alleys of Rubacava.

"Why do I have to… just an honest day's work… maybe slightly illegal…? Who cares?" The inane babbling continued, quietly, as he made his way to a favourite haunt of his- behind a dumpster, behind the elevator- haunt of the gamblers and the only semi-decent crap game in the city that wasn't run in a casino or by the Maritime Union, who all cheated. Just because he was slightly less than scrupulously honest didn't mean that everyone else had to prove their lack of morals by using loaded dice.

The dumpster apparently wasn't 'getting the action' tonight though, so he sat beside it and stared at the club in front of him. Not that he liked the Blue Casket- on an attempt to find a place he wouldn't get thrown out of, he'd sat in there and stuck out like a sore thumb bone. Eventually, the beatniks had escorted him out, after he'd clapped instead of clicked at the end of a poetry reading session. That particular piece of prose had been terrible anyway, even if it was written by Olivia- which cruel skeleton would call their cat Boney?

This evening though (technically morning, but never mind), there was a reasonably bright white light on in the club- surprisingly enough. The top window was lit up brightly, and in morbid curiosity, Charlie scrabbled his way to the top of the dumpster to get a closer look.

Two figures stepped into view, locked together at the jaw. Personally, Charlie had never worked out how you could kiss without lips- or anything else, for that matter. It was simply the fact that he hadn't got much experience it that area of things (although not for lack of trying), but it wasn't that which kept him gazing. It was the individuals involved.

The woman was obviously Olivia- the beret and cigarette holder clutched in her hand betrayed all, but who she was in lockjaw with, he couldn't tell, although one thing was certain. It definitely wasn't Maximino. This was rich- very rich. But who was the other individual involved in this shady affair? Closer investigation would be needed.

Hurrying (although he hated to go faster than absolutely necessary normally) to the elevator, he stepped inside and mentally begged for to speed up as it climbed the cliff, he got out and shuffled (being the best way to describe his walk) to the side of the cliff. If he was looking at the blue casket, then if he walked far enough… he might be able to see the window again.

Finally making it in front of the lit window, he discovered (to his dismay) that the pair weren't standing in front of it any more. This made it slightly more difficult, and he was about to give up on it completely when the pair emerged into view. If Charlie's jaw could drop any further without falling off, he thought it would have done.

Nick. Nick Virago. Lawyer to one side of the biggest partnership in Rubacava, and apparently lover to the other. Who would have thought it? The pair (still firmly attached at the mandible) swung out of view, and the light went off. Drat. Charlie had enjoyed being a peeping Tom, but apparently privacy was a big thing over in that room.

This left a con artist who had information, but not a clue how to harvest it. For large profit, of course, but how to get that level of finance? The skeletons he had dirt on were rich. Very rich. But, conning and swindling money out of people was what Charlie did best- especially with unsuspecting victims.

Well, there was only one place to go. Back to the Cat Track, the High Roller's Lounge, and to see Maximino.


	2. An Unexpected Visit

**Lockjaw**

A/N: Ah, the joys of funny stories. Especially one with our favourite mini con man. Let's see what he gets up to next, shall we?

**0-0-0-0-0**

On second thoughts, Charlie decided, begrudgingly, not to go straight to Max. He probably wouldn't believe the story anyway- not since he'd been forcibly removed from his club twice in the last thirty six hours. Instead, he happened to be trudging (with accompanying sounds akin to fingernails scraping down a chalkboard- his bones weren't used to this much exercise) up a seemingly everlasting staircase to one of the most expensive penthouse apartments in the whole of Rubacava.

Why on earth didn't they have a lift?

Once again muttering to himself- about his decidedly creaky joints, lack of elevator and the ungodly hour of the morning (ten thirty three, to be precise), he finally reached the top floor and had to lean against the banister for quite some time to regain any breath he had left.

It was strange, admittedly, how long it had taken him to track down his target. The owner of the suite was apparently scrupulous as keeping his privacy was concerned- it had taken him an hour and a half to find their address, pulling in on favours he'd been saving for… say… a very long time- he hadn't exactly been keeping track.

But, back to the matter at hand, Charlie pressed the gilded doorbell. And waited. For what seemed like hours. Finally, the door was wrenched open, and one certain Nick Virago was standing in the doorway, looking incredibly tousled and wearing a pair of mint green and bright pink stripy pyjamas.

Charlie could swear that the wall shook as the door slammed.

Meanwhile, inside the apartment, Nick was trying to steady his breathing, whilst wondering why he hadn't even attempted to lie about his name when he bought the apartment. It would have had to be a very good attempt, seeing as everyone knew who he was anyway, but it would have probably been worth it.

"I have told you many times before, I do not care who you have managed to annoy this time, I have my client. You couldn't pay me anyway. Now, do us all a favour and leave," he shouted through the door, in a vain attempt to assert some authority.

"But, Nicky," Charlie simpered, "what I know is something you wouldn't want to get out. It could even reach Maximino, and you wouldn't want that, eh?"

Nick decided to play safe: in other words; deny everything.

"I have no clue to what you're insinuating. Now, go; the cleaning lady won't appreciate having to use more than three cans of air freshener on the hallway." But, apparently, the skeleton on the other side of the door was having none of it.

"Well, I'll just go and tell Max that you and Olivia were up in a back room last night. Unless you want to stop me…" Charlie really was desperate for the payoff. He was over three months overdue with the rent on his own place, and the landlady had begun to chase him around with a large mop whenever he entered the place.

"Of all the cock and bull stories that you could possibly invent, this is what you come up with? That has to be the worst excuse to get into the High Roller's Lounge legitimately I've ever heard." _Dammit, _he thought. _Olivia really needs to get blinds in her back room._

"Ah, but it true, eh, Nickynicknick? I could tell Max now and you'd be out of a job. You tide me over, I won't say a word. Nada." Yes, he was truly desperate.

_What the…Nickynicknick? He needs to learn better persuasion techniques. _Aloud, however, Nick voiced, "ah, but do you have evidence to back up your lies?"

"Well… No… But that's not important."

"Ah, but you see, my mentally challenged annoyance, you should know you need evidence to back you up. As stated in Chapter seven, Paragraph three Line seven of the Lawyers Handbook…" Charlie spent the next few minutes trying and failing miserably to follow the legal jargon the lawyer was spouting far too rapidly not to be a danger to the general public. As he paused for a quick breath, the diminutive con man moved back slowly, and then turned and fled back down the stairs as fast as his joints would carry him.

_Ah, lawyer handbook quotes do the trick every time, _Nick thought, smirking, as he listened to the dismayed squeak and crash that imminently followed, heralding Charlie's arrival into the entrance hall, _but I really should consider getting a new pair of pyjamas…_


	3. An Unexpected Drop In

**Lockjaw**

A/N: Whoops, spent a lot of time on this chapter to get it perfect, and then completely forgot about it. What a twit am I? Never mind, it's here now. However, one person I must thank is Scorpicus, my into a semblance of order, as they have done with the other chapters of this travesty of a story. Have fun!

**0-0-0-0-0**

It was a cool evening in Rubacava, and Olivia was sitting composedly at her balcony, making the finishing touches to yet another piece of poetry. It had been a reasonably busy evening at the club, but next week brought with it a poetry reading evening, and, of course, someone had to warm up the microphone, didn't they?

Putting down her pen and observing the last stanza with relish, Olivia took a long drag of her cigarette, and peered over the balcony just in time to watch a figure in a suit go flying off the trellis climbing up to the veranda, and hit the ground with a sickening crunch.

"My spine…" Charlie moaned from the pavement below. Amused, Olivia leant over the railings and watched him writhe on the tarmac.

"Well, you're no Romeo, are you? He didn't fall off the balcony." As Charlie got shakily back up to his feet, she lounged on the metal barrier and took a mouthful of smoke, before blowing it in his face.

Spluttering, Charlie began to climb again. Sadly, although a con man, he wasn't a cat burglar, and fell backwards onto the tarmac again.

Once fully able to get up again, he decided it might be a good idea to explain why on earth he was attempting to scale the building. "Miss…. Miss Ofrenda," he stuttered, "I have information that you wouldn't want your boyfriend to find out!"

Olivia sighed melodramatically before answering. "What information could you possibly have on me?"

"Maybe… maybe that you're… you're with…" Charlie's nerve had left him, and although he wasn't able to finish his statement, Olivia was only too willing to fill in the gaps.

"Oh, you think that I'm with someone else, and you've come to get a payout so you don't tell Maximino, aren't you?" Charlie nodded enthusiastically, glad she had got the point (sadly, not catching the hint of scepticism in her voice, or the underlying tone of 'no way in hell will I be giving you anything, moron.') Olivia, once more, blew cigarette smoke in his face, before proceeding.

"But, you don't have any evidence, do you?" Charlie shook his head. Olivia idly wondered what she'd done to deserve having to talk to this Neanderthal, imagined rolling her eyes (well, you couldn't exactly roll your eye sockets,) and continued.

"You see, I'm not going to give you anything, because even if you did go to Max, you wouldn't get anywhere, darling," she told him, sarcasm and patronisation dripping off her voice as she spoke to the somewhat slow diminutive con. "He won't believe you, and we'll all get on with our deaths, me, with my boyfriend, you, in a gutter somewhere in the pouring rain." Without gauging Charlie's reaction, she dropped her cigarette stub in his general direction and walked composedly into the top floor of the Blue Casket, where Nick was waiting for her.

"Who was that?" he asked, almost accusatorily.

"Just a moron out to get my money. It's nothing, he's dealt with now." Nick realised who she'd meant- remembering with a slight shudder the bright pink and mint green pyjama episode. Chowchilla Charlie.

"I had a visit from him this morning. Threatening to tell…"

"He won't get anywhere. Max loves me. He wouldn't believe him whatever he was told, not without evidence." Nick nodded, somewhat reassured, before crossing the room and flicking the light off.


	4. An Unexpected Meeting

**Lockjaw**

OMG! This story can (and is about to) fit into game canon! Life is complete!

**0-0-0-0-0**

Charlie had spent three hours looking around Rubacava, looking for one person in particular to help his plan progress. And yet, he couldn't find her anywhere.

How difficult was it for someone, who always seemed to wear high heels and could be seen from 600 paces, to be found in Rubacava, where everyone seemed to know her? And yet, she was still nowhere to be seen.

Deciding that the last three hours he'd spent walking around the city was far too much work for his own good, Charlie slumped onto the bridge wall and panted for breath. The only place he hadn't thought of looking was Membrillo's, and surely she hadn't got sprouted… had she?

However, when all hope seemed to be lost, and he was about to head home- try and get inside without getting chased for rent money with the mop, he saw something that gave him the will to sit outside at this chilly time in the evening, still rubbing his sore bones.

Far in the distance, he could see a large, somewhat stupid hat looming on the horizon.

There were a few ways he could try and use this situation to his advantage. He could use his powers of female persuasion to make her fall in love with him and do everything he wanted… or not, act as he usually did and screw everything up, or pretend to be endearing and sympathising, and twist her that way. Come to think of it, the second one would probably be the best way to take this.

"Lola, chica…" he said, walking up to her. She simply stood there thoughtful for a minute.

"Did you get me a pass yet, Charlie? You said you would." Although Lola did a lot of dealings in the Cat Track, taking photos and the like for publicity postcards, she didn't have a pass into the High Rollers lounge. This effectively meant she couldn't see Maximino as much as she would like, and had asked Charlie if he could get her one. What she hadn't really realised was that Charlie didn't intend to: at least, not until he got what he wanted.

"Lola, I'll get you the pass, I just need a favour in return…"

"You said that before, didn't you, Charlie? And you still haven't got the pass for me. I've got some twilight photos to take. See you around." She went to walk off, uninterested, but he stopped her. In truth, Charlie would be willing to grovel on his hands and knees, get his only suit muddy, and worship her as God most high if she'd do this for him. But he'd start with just asking, as politely as someone like him could manage.

"I need your help, Lola. Olivia's doing something behind Max's back, and I need your help to tell him. I need a photograph." He leant up to whisper in her ear (whilst whacking his skull on the brim of the awkward construction that constituted as a hat at the same time), and as he continued, her facial expressions went through suspicion to anger and finally did a complete turnaround to hit pity.

"Oh, poor Max! And you want me to get a photo of them, Charlie?" Twilight photo session apparently forgotten, Lola listened to the plan (which, although so overly simplistic that it could go wrong at several levels- it didn't take into account that not everything was swings and roundabouts in the world, and as it was Charlie's idea , not that good a scheme in the first place), and thought about it. "If I get this photo, I can show him that Olivia's not the skeleton he thinks she is, and maybe he'll dump her and go onto other people. Like me…" Still enraptured in this thought, she tottered away across the bridge, and over to the Blue Casket. Charlie watched her go (or more precisely, watched her hat bob up and down as she walked), and one thought went through his head.

_Money on the Chowchilla train, coming right up…_


	5. An Unexpected Ending

**Lockjaw**

A/N: And, it is complete! After weeks of procrastination and worrying about dialogue, here's the finished product. Many thanks to all those who reviewed, and the people behind the scenes who helped a lot (more than they can possibly imagine.) And, yes, guys, it's still in canon. Get that.

**0-0-0-0-0**

Charlie was, at that moment, very nervous. In fact, his fight and flight reflex was screaming at him to run now (as it did far too often for his liking: during roulette, poker, craps and any other gambling venture, for that matter.) However, this time, he had decided not to listen to the nagging voice at the back of his cranium, and stay where he was.

Which was, incidentally, hiding underneath a table in the High Roller's Lounge. He was waiting for the opportune moment to make a dash for Max's office, and tell him the news. Yes, Charlie had sunk that low: but, then, he'd sunk lower. Also, he'd just finished business with Manny next to the elevator, and, having passed over the briefcase to a reasonably trusted associate, he was now concentrating on a way to keep his current abode, livelihood and any semblance of a reputation he had left.

In fact, there was only one thing stopping him from doing so: that being the lawyer on the other side of the room, who was getting through a large pile of paperwork at a rate of knots whilst idly smoking a cigarette.

Charlie watched him briefly, wondering why on earth someone would want to do that much work, before looking over his plan for the umpteenth time. He hadn't seen Lola since their twilight exchange, and had heard some particularly nasty rumours pertaining to her demise., so he hadn't got the evidence he'd wanted. Therefore, he was planning to smart talk his way into fame, fortune, money and favour, or as the case may be, a sharp kick to the behind (or, worse, a sproutella pellet to the head.)

However, whilst still pondering his spectacularly misjudged plan (still underneath the table in the more formal part of the High Roller's Lounge), a slight inconvenience occurred, in the form of a horribly stereotypical French waiter grabbing him by the scruff of his suit and hauling him into the light, whilst still miraculously balancing his tray in one hand.

As Charlie tried and failed to get out of his grip, whilst squinting in the bright light (as a conman and a resident of Rubacava, he was a very much nocturnal skeleton), said waiter peered at him, choked at the smell, and began to babble French at a speed that seemed entirely unhealthy.

Nick, from his spot further across the room, looked up, and taking a piece of paperwork off the top of the pile, took him self and his cigarette and relocated to his employer's office.

"Will you get off the suit? It's the only one I have," Charlie said irritably, trying to prise the waiter's hand off the collar off his blazer, to no avail. Pulled by the neck, Charlie soon found himself through the ostentatious archway, straight to the man himself: Maximino.

From where they were cloistered around Max's desk, both skeletons looked up, Nick swore under his breath, and Max sighed.

"Your excuse had better be good, Charlie," he said, expectantly. So far, Charlie's excuses had been remarkably similar and not very good.

"Ah, well, I came to tell you about Nicky --"

Nick abruptly cut into his sentence. "Do you want to continue with the contract, or shall I call Aitor now?" He continued to outline various points on the piece of paper, and Max diverted his attention back to the legal jargon. How he understood al that, Charlie didn't know.

"And... and Olivia!" He piped up, to no avail. The pair at the desk kept talking, and were blocking him out.

Nonetheless, he tried again. "Nick... and Olivia.." Still, he was paid no heed. Instead, he got the distinct impression that he was nothing but a fly that they desperately wanted to swat.

"Nick... and Olivia... kissing!" He was ignored until the paperwork was finished and, once, again, Aitor was summoned, and he was unceremoniously scooped into the crook of the demon's arm, as a child would carry it's cuddly toy.

**0-0-0-0-0**

Dumped once more outside the back fire exit of the Cat Track, Charlie got up, dusted his already muddy and tattered suit off for no apparent reason, before heading down the dark alley in front of him with every intent to disappear into the dark back streets of Rubacava. However, he didn't quite get that far, as he found himself with a gun pointed evenly between his eye sockets.

"Keep walking, or I'll shoot," Nick said, moving behind him in one fluid movement, holding the back of his collar in one hand, and pressing the gun pointedly into his spine. Charlie, realising it would be a bad idea to protest at this point, began to walk.

It took quite some time before they got to their destination: the sun was peeking forlornly over the trees as they reached the gates of the Petrified Forest. However, gun still pointed at his hostage, Nick twisted the hapless skeleton around, and reached into the protesting con man's inside blazer pocket, drawing out a shiny gold Number Nine ticket. With a smirk, he placed it inside his own jacket, before opening the gate, and pushing the skeleton he had held at gunpoint inside the forest.

"Keep going until you get to El Marrow: you will be sprouted if I see you again. It's tipped to be the new haunt for your kind." Charlie didn't start to move until he heard the gun cock behind him, at which point he swore under his breath and trudged into the depths of the forest, muttering under his breath. As soon as he was certain that the smaller skeleton had gone, Nick began to walk back to Rubacava, certain in the knowledge that he had a direct ticket out of the Land of the Dead as soon as he wanted it, and that Chowchilla Charlie would never get a chance to interfere in his personal affairs again: the demons (or the beavers) would get him first.


End file.
